


Remedium

by Bonami27



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), Shadowhunters (TV) RPF, Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Action & Romance, Background Clary Fray/Jace Wayland, Background Clary Fray/Simon Lewis, Clary Fray & Alec Lightwood Friendship, Clary Fray & Isabelle Lightwood Friendship, Clary Fray & Simon Lewis Friendship, Domestic Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Romance, F/M, Hurt Jace Wayland, Hurt/Comfort, Jace Wayland Deserves Nice Things, Jace Wayland Needs A Hug, M/M, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood Fluff, Multi, Other, POV Alternating, POV Clary Fray, POV First Person, POV Jace Wayland, Past Clary Fray/Jace Wayland, Protective Clary Fray, Protective Jace Wayland, Reunion Sex, Romance, Sex, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Teen Romance, Tragic Romance, mature themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26677894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bonami27/pseuds/Bonami27
Summary: AU story set throughout the entirety of City of Bones, City of Ashes and leading into City of Glass with the addition of characters from later in the series; Clary fails to expose Valentine's plans and eliminate the return of The Circle, after a botched attempt to infiltrate them at Renwick's, which leads to Jace's capture. A year on, and after much change, the two are reunited, but not in the way any expect.
Relationships: Alec Lightwood & Jace Wayland, Alec Lightwood/Jace Wayland, Clary Fray & Jace Wayland, Clary Fray & Simon Lewis, Clary Fray/Jace Wayland, Isabelle Lightwood & Jace Wayland, Isabelle Lightwood/Meliorn, Magnus Bane & Alec Lightwood, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Seelie Queen/Jace Wayland, Simon Lewis/Maia Roberts
Comments: 5
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

Today, Clary was dressed entirely in white. Her usual garb, that generally consisted of a black tank top, black skinny jeans with tears at the knee, her leather jacket and various Goth style accessories that she would normally be seen wearing, were tucked away in her closet.

Instead, Clary wore a V-neck sleeveless dress that came down just past her knee; It was the dress she had warn to her mother, Jocelyn’s, funeral just last year. The dress that adorned her slender figure was a modest choice, when compared to some of the dresses she had worn on other occasion, mostly in part to Izzy’s input.

While Clary was the sort of person who would, without effort, stand out in any crowd, her most striking features were her brilliant green eyes, her ringletted magenta coloured hair and the onyx runes that marred her otherwise translucent skin.

It was with her striking features and unusual garb that Clary now made her way to the New York Institute, where, once again, she would be briefed on the current situation in the Idris that she and many of the other Shadowhunter’s from the New York Institute had been discussing with the Clave for weeks now. She took a deep breath as she walked down the busy street towards the looming doors of the seemingly dilapidated Cathedral that housed America’s largest Shadowhunter Institute, smiling steadily as she walked along the street towards the ornately sculptured building, waving to people she knew (and even those she didn’t), greeting them brightly. Her morning walk wasn’t without incident though, as each and every person stared at her attire, though none could find a polite way of commenting about it. Clary did not mind, in fact she thought it better for her if they did not ask—she did not want to have to explain to anyone why she was wearing white; it was just too painful to think about.

Despite the smiles and cheerful waves she gave people as she went, the dark feeling of gloom still rested on her shoulders. She had a good reason for wearing white that day, for it was almost exactly—

"Clary!" came an exuberant exclamation from behind her. A small smile appeared on her lips as Clary shook her head from side to side. Perhaps a dose of her best friend Simon would be enough to keep her mind off of her sadness.

Turning her head back down the path that she had just come from, Clary saw Simon sprinting towards her, waving energetically. A broad grin was on his kind face. He skidded to a stop in front of her and almost crashed into some people who were walking by, much to Clary’s alarm. Simon on the other hand seemed undaunted, or he simply did not notice, and looked at Clary happily.

"Hey, Fray." he grinned as he handed her a cup of coffee from Java Jones.

"Hey, Simon," she did her best to smile at him, truly grateful for the coffee despite the lateness of the day. "Why are you in such a hurry at this time of evening?"

"Oh, well…not really in a hurry," Simon scratched the back of his head thoughtfully, "It's just that I promised Maia that I’d treat her to Taki’s tonight. I was wondering if you wanted to come along, Fray, because you seem awfully…I don’t know, distant lately."

Clary began to think on Simon’s observation of her recent behaviour. Had she really been that aloof that even Simon had noticed? She grimaced slightly before replying, "You sure you want to treat me to Taki’s? You know how much I can eat…”

“Yeah, you do have a point there… But that’s okay. I feel I should treat you every now and then, seeing as I am kind of indebted to you and all. So, you going to come along?” Simon asked.

“Sorry, Si," she apologised, "I have a lot of work to get through with the Clave, and I don't think I’ll make it out of there at any decent hour. You know how dragged out those meetings can be..." Not to mention that she would feel out of place; She and Maia had never really seen eye to eye and she didn’t think it a good idea to third wheel on one of their dates. As it were, she would rather be alone that day.

"Aw, come on Fray!" Simon begged, "You sure I can’t tempt you?"

"Thanks for the offer Simon," she shook her head a little more firmly, knowing that if she gave him an inch, he would never give up begging, "but perhaps another time. I'm just too busy. I'm really sorry that I can't come, as much as I'd like too."

"Couldn't you just skip out on one meeting, Clary?" Simon pleaded.

"Definitely not, you of all people know that the Inquisitor is watching my every move. She doesn’t think too highly of me, being Valentine’s daughter and all. I’ve gone against Clave regulations one too many times that I really can’t afford to do anything else that might make any of the Clave think any less of me than they already do.” Clary said firmly, "People are depending on me, Si, both Downworlder and non-Downworlder. And besides, when was the last time you and Maia got to spend some decent one on one time with one another?"

"Clary," Simon spoke up, "They do say, the more the merrier."

"Well, they also say that less is more," Clary laughed lightly in return, "We sure contradict ourselves, don’t we? Anyway, I'm going to be late if I don't hurry. Thank you for the offer, but I'll come along next time if I'm able. See you around!"

Simon sulked. Clary smiled a little sadly and waved before turning and walking briskly down the remainder of the street. She had wasted too much time as it was. Inquisitor Herondale in particular was very strict when it came to being on time. ‘I don’t care if you’re Raziel’s direct descendent or not, I’ll not put up with a lack of punctuality. You’d do well to remember that, Clarissa Morgenstern.' she had emphasized. Clary remembered feeling, for the time since having met the head of the Clave, a sense of fear towards her. Inquisitor Herondale sure was one intimidating individual.

Pushing open the doors to the Institute and heading to the open area where the meeting was going to be taking place, Clary greeted the faces of the other Shadowhunters, including Alec and Isabelle Lightwood, and lesser members of the Clave with a soft smile. When her eyes met with those of Inquisitor Herondale, she felt her eyes twitch. How she hated having to be here. And to be here almost every day was not how Clary wished to be spending her time. She felt that her talents were better put to use elsewhere; maintaining relations with the Night Children, the Fae and Seelies in their court and even by hanging out with New York’s infamous Werewolf pack down by the docks in the lower end of China Town. She had no patience for diplomatic meetings that stretched on for hours at a time.

Clary shook her head firmly, not wanting to waste any more time by dwelling on the current situation regarding her daily schedule, and instead made her way to her allocated spot at the large desk before her.

"Good morning, Clarissa," Maryse Lightwood greeted her, smiling, "Inquisitor Herondale would like to see you privately before we begin the meeting for today. You’ll find her on the fourth floor, third door on the right."

“Thank you." Clary replied, nodding before making her way to the elevator. Checking the clock that was a standard installment in all elevators, she sighed in annoyance, she had only three minutes to get up to the fourth floor. The elevator seemed to be taking forever and she mashed the button on the wall impatiently. After what seemed to be an eternity, the door opened and Clary dashed inside, pushing the button for the fourth floor. She breathed a sigh as the elevator began to move upwards.

Today felt as though it might never end.

* * *

It was damp—always damp. He hated the damp. Ever since he were a child, the damp had always irked him, for reasons unknown even to him. It was not like it was anything new to him, it had always been dank in the underground that was The Circle’s base, and one would think that after a year of being held captive in various underground bases, he would have grown used to it. But even after that extended period of time, Jace still hated the musty smell, among other things.

Perhaps it was because of the tinge of apprehension he felt that day that the smell and the feeling in the air bothered him more than ever. Valentine himself had summoned him, said that he needed to speak with him over a small matter. Jace scoffed quietly to himself, he was not stupid, and Valentine knew not to take Jace for a fool, and as such, had placed Jace’s room heavily under guard. It wasn’t that Jace couldn't deal with the guards; he was more than capable—it was the inconvenience of causing a ruckus, thereby bringing more Circle lackeys after him as he attempted to make his escape that was the problem.

Jace slammed his fist down hard onto the concrete wall next to his bed, so hard that it cracked and crumbled slightly from the force, his hand flaring up in pain. This was not how he was going to meet his end. Jace had met with his current predicament after Valentine had captured him just over a year ago at Renwick’s when he, Clary and Luke had gone looking for Jocelyn; his mother, supposedly. Jace, while scared beyond what he’d be willing to admit, had been relieved when Clary had retrieved Jocelyn and escaped the same fate that he currently found himself a victim of.

Jace had had it all planned out: by this time, a year from when he had been taken by Valentine and The Circle, he would have escaped and used whatever remaining strength and power of his own to eventually overthrow Valentine, and kill him. When all that was said and done, he’d return to The Institute and, in whatever way he could, go back to his life that was surely awaiting him.

Jace’s plans of escape and a coup had naturally been foiled when today, he was called forth to 'talk' with Valentine over a small matter. The small matter in question, of course, was the matter of Jace’s defiance against Valentine, and the consequences were unquestionably that Jace would be de-runed; something that he had planned to keep from happening. Jace realised however, that at his current state, he had no chance in overthrowing Valentine, let alone the entirety of his loyal cult members. He could put up a decent fight, and injure Valentine critically, but Jace knew that he would most likely be dead well before Valentine. And that of course, was unacceptable.

Jace held his head in his hands, his fingers tangled in his matted blonde locks; his jaw was clenched, his brow furrowed into a deep scowl. It was almost time… Valentine would undoubtedly have him escorted to have their little 'chat', and then Jace knew his own body and ability to fight would be out of his control.

Standing up abruptly, Jace began to pace around the room in an irritated manner. There had to be some way out of this. He knew the only other thing that Valentine could possibly want with him was to force Jace to use his tracking rune to track Clary. Jace knew this was still very much a possibility, he had known from the very day he’d been captured that he could be used as bait, to lure Clary into Valentine’s grasp, but of course he would do, and had done, everything in what little power he had to prevent this from happening. If there was one thing that bothered Jace more than anything else, it was being used against those he loved. He had to think of a way to get out of this situation without getting killed or having Clary captured. He refused to allow either to happen.

'Think!' he reprimanded himself, his fists clenching and unclenching behind his back as he paced back and forth. There must be some way of preventing either situation; there must be a way out—a way that would save Clary.

He paused and looked at his hands, flexing them slightly. There had to be a way… He closed his tired eyes, going over in his head why exactly Valentine had kept him alive this long and what he needed him for. There were only a couple things, come to think of it. Valentine wanted him because of his connection to Clary. Aside from his inherent power, Angel and Demon alike, there was no other reason to keep him alive.

Slowly sinking to his knees on the concrete floor, he closed his eyes and sighed. The only thing he could think of allowing, was unthinkable. If he did, there was a good chance he would never be able to be forgiven. He could probably break his own bones if he needed, but that would only prevent Valentine from temporarily baiting Clary with him. Jace grumbled to himself, pacing again, trying to think of alternative ways of escaping, but only drew up blanks.

He knew he couldn’t do anything to harm himself physically, because if he did, Alec would also suffer. If Jace were to die, a part of Alec would die in the process. Jace’s death would also mean that Clary would become Valentine’s target, and that was something Jace could never let happen.

Jace thought again to his only solid choice of action… it was so risky. To live, free of Valentine and The Circle but never be forgiven by Clary or the Lightwoods or, to be used as bargaining chip against The Clave and Clary, only to have Valentine manipulate her into doing unspeakable atrocities on the world. Either that, or kill her. No matter which way one looked at things, it was a no-win situation. Jace stewed things over a little while longer, his mind growing ever anxious as the weight of the situation came crashing down upon him. He had to make his decision and quickly.

Jace mulled over in his mind, his decision once more, his resolve solidifying. There was always a slim possibility that he could live a fulfilling life as a non-Shadowhunter, as a mundane, but he could see no way of ever being completely ‘whole’ again. He knew that if he were to do it, it had to be in a way so damaging that not even Magnus could fix it.

No sooner had Jace made his decision, he heard it, faintly at first, but unmistakable—there were footsteps in the hall, and they were coming his way.

Jace glanced sharply over his shoulder toward the door, then down at the Stele in his hands. His heart began pounding in his chest, his brow and hands breaking into a sweat; he bit into his lip fiercely, tasting blood. He looked over the various runes and marks covering his skin, their existence linked to his own. He took them in, as if to etch the look and feel of them into his deepest memory, his hands shaking all the while.

The owner of the footsteps was outside his door now and had stopped. He heard the voice of one of Valentine’s multitude of Circle lackeys ordering the guards to open the door. There was a clinking of keys, the doorknob turning, the slight creak of the door being opened.

With a determined resolve, Jace ran his Stele over the inside of his right arm, etching into his fair skin a rune the likes he’d never wanted to see, let alone mark upon his own skin. It was the vanishing rune; the final mark that a damned Shadowhunter had branded upon their skin before having the entirety of their runes striped from their being. In being de-runed, a Shadowhunter lost any and all claim they might have to their birth rite as a member of the Shadow World. Their memories of Idris and of the Downworld would quickly fade from their knowledge and not soon after they’d be living as a mundane, completely unaware of their past life and any memories made.

Jace chocked back an animalistic cry of pain as he saw, felt, his runes being lifted from his skin. With each rune that faded, Jace could feel his mind becoming more and more hazy, his memories becoming a jumbled mess. Distinct memories flashed before his minds eye; the day he received his first rune, the Voyance rune, he and Alec on the day of their Parabatai ceremony, Isabelle waving her Stele over the mark of his healing rune after one of their countless battles fighting off demons and, Clary. Memories of the night he’d (quite literally) bumped into her at Pandemonium, her bright green eyes meeting his, memories of their first kiss, how heated it had become and how Clary made Jace feel thins and way’s he’d never felt for anyone before, memories of the sickening feeling that would settle in his stomach whenever anything happened to Clary and of how fiercely protective he felt of her and the memory of the last time he’d seen her, her face strewn with tears, her voice hoarse as she called out his name as he was forcibly pulled through a portal by Valentine.

Jace began to feel extremely light headed, his balance failing him at the onslaught of images playing in his mind. Whoever had made to take him to Valentine approached him, grabbing at his arm tightly in an attempt to pull him out of the room. Jace lashed out in a last ditch effort to remain free of Valentine’s grasp, his punches not as ineffectual as he thought they’d be.

Without any access to any real weapon, Jace knew he had little chance of winning this fight or seeing his escape plan to fruition. No sooner had he knocked down one guard, did another take their place. Jace cursed as his fist made contact with one of the guard’s cheeks, his movements becoming more desperate as more of his runes faded from his skin. He was panting, though not out from exertion, but more out of fear of what was to come.

“That’s enough, Jonathon.” Came a steely voice.

Valentine stood in the doorway of Jace’s room (more like cell). His eyes were laced with disapproval, his face hard. He gave Jace a once over before nodding at the two men standing behind him to bound Jace’s arms.

“Don’t call me that. My name is _Jace_.” Jace hissed as the guards approached him cautiously.

Before he had time to react, Jace was pinched in the side of his neck, effectively rendering him unconscious. Jace’s weight buckled beneath him, his legs folding under him. The last thing Jace was aware of before loosing all consciousness was the sensation of a great weight being lifted from his body as Valentine stood before him, his expression not that of a loving father.

As Jace’s eyes slid closed his last thoughts were of Clary, and of how much he wished he could have seen her one last time.


	2. Chapter 2

"You’ve been doing well in training recently, Clarissa," Inquisitor Herondale praised the young Shadowhunter as she stood opposite her, "You’ve certainly come a long way in the short time you’ve been with us.”

"Thank you, though I feel I am unworthy of such praise." Clary shook her head, her green eyes guarded.

Inquisitor Herondale nodded curtly, standing up from her seat behind the solid oak desk and putting her hand on the shoulder of the young woman before her. Clary stiffened.

"I suppose you find it odd, my praising your progress, given how I was towards you when you and I first met,” Inquisitor Herondale went on, "I know I’ve no right to expect or ask for it, but I hope you can understand why I did the things I did and that, perhaps one day, you forgive me.”

Clary lowered her face, not liking how the Inquisitor’s grey eyes bore straight through her. "I understand that you did what you thought was best for the Clave, given the circumstances." Clary said, her voice breaking slightly. _‘But I won’t ever forgive you for abandoning Jace.’_ Clary didn’t add.

“I glad that you’ve come to understand that," Inquisitor Herondale stated, before turning to exit the room, "The Law is hard, but it is the Law.” Inquisitor Herondale receipted. “Come now, let's go down to the meeting room before the other members arrive.”

The way that the Inquisitor made her statement, Clary knew that she would be unable to argue further. She glared slightly at the Inquisitor’s retreating back—Imogen Herondale was a serious person and praise was a rare thing to get out of her. Clary did feel proud that she had been praised by the Inquisitor, but that did not make her anger with the older Shadowhunter dissipate.

Slowly Clary followed behind Inquisitor Herondale. Inquisitor Heronadale was holding the elevator open, waiting for Clary as she quickly scampered over and entered, the doors closing behind her. The ride down to the lower level of the Institute was an awkward one, Clary not knowing how to fill the silence that stood between them. After a few more painstakingly long moments, the Inquisitor began to make comments on the recent turmoil in the Seelie Court and even on the Seelie Queen herself.

"I know that as one of the highest representatives of the Clave, I perhaps ought not to be saying this, but I’ve never been fond of the Seelie Queen. She makes others do her dirty work; extorting her own citizens for her ostentatious court and topiaries and expects other Downworlders and Shadowhunters to go along with it without so much as a quibble." Inquisitor Herondale was saying, "It's appalling, how willingly she allows others to dirty their hands on her behalf and reminds me somewhat of someone else I know..."

"Hm? Like who?" the Inquisitor’s comment having piqued Clary’s interest, though she was only half listening.

“No one of importance.” Inquisitor Herondale quipped.

The two of them chatted idly as they proceeded to the meeting room. Clary took in the enormity of the room before her and saw that many of her fellow Shadowhunter’s were waiting for her and the Inquisitor’s arrival. Just as Clary was about to enter into the room, Clary felt a hand on her shoulder once more.

"Clarissa."

Turning her head to the sound of the voice, Clary was met with a concerned look from Inquisitor Herondale, who was staring her in a perceptive manner, "Yes, Inquisitor?"

"Tell me," she said, dropping her hand from Clary’s shoulder, "why is it you are wearing white today?”

It was not a question, it was an order; the tone stated that she could not refuse answering. Clary blinked for a moment, then opened her mouth, carefully choosing her words, "Well… given that I’ve already completed this weeks training and that I’ve not been sanctioned for any missions, I thought that perhaps I could change things up a little, try out a new look."

"I see," Beifong replied, sounding skeptical. "We, The Clave and here at the Institute, are only permitted to wear white when we are either to be wed or when mourning the dead.” Inquisitor Herondale bore down on her. “I believe that you are aware of such customs, are you not?"

"Well, I…" Clary began.

"Clarissa," Inquisitor Herondale’s voice was one of warning; Clary knew that the Clave elite did not like to being lied to.

Looking down at her hands that she hadn’t realised had begun to shake, Clary hung her ringletted head. She spoke quietly when she finally managed to open her mouth, having difficulty choking out the words.

"It's been a year since my failed attempt to overthrow Valentine and The Circle. Today marks a year since Jace was captured… " Clary trailed off.

The words died as soon as they met with her tongue; unable to force them out, she did not bother to try and speak any further.

"It’s as I thought…" Inquisitor Herondale swallowed, "Clarissa, the chances of us being able to rescue Jonathon were reduced to almost zero as soon as he was captured by Valentine. The chances of us being able to locate him, a year on, are even less.” Inquisitor Herondale stated almost clinically. “I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but you must have realised this by now."

"I know," Clary murmured quietly, "But as long as there is breath left in my body, I will not give up on trying to find him."

"Clarissa," Inquisitor Herondale spoke sharply, "We have done everything within our power to find him.” Clary stated with a newfound determination. “Inquisitor, of all the people I know, you are the one who I thought would never give up on Jace," Clary let out, "Doesn’t he remind you of your son, Stephen? A Shadowhunter never abandons their own, that’s what I’ve always been told, but that’s exactly what has happened to Jace; we’ve abandoned him.” Clary almost cried out in frustration. “Surely you have at least a shred of hope that we’ll find him."

"A shred is a very small thing, Clarissa," Inquisitor Herondale replied tersely, her lips pursed. "Jonathon’s fate has been out of our control for quite some time now. I suggest that you get your mourning over with quickly, so that you are able to focus on things more important than that of lost comrades. Remember, Clarissa; emotions cloud judgment."

Clary didn’t respond, the shock of the Inquisitor’s words too raw. Despite Inquisitor Herondale telling her to do otherwise, she would never give up on Jace, nor would she ever forget about him; he was her first love, her last love, her _only_ love.

Mercifully, as if by some unknown force, Maryse Lightwood seemed to appear out of now where, brandishing a large stack of papers in the Inquisitor’s face.

"Imogen! Clarissa! I have _finally_ found the pair of you!" Maryse reprimanded, clearly flustered, which was a most unusual state for her to be in. Clary looked up slightly at the normally prim and proper woman, who looked instead like she had combed the institute twice over before finding the pair now stood before her, "Why are you standing over here? We have a meeting to get through and all of this paperwork to sign!”

"Calm down Maryse, I will look over the paperwork following our meeting this evening…" Inquisitor Herondale assured.

"Imogen, I appreciate that you’re busy with official matters handed down to you from the Clave, but this is serious." Maryse retorted in a frustrated manner.

Clary made her way over to her allocated seat at the council members table, sitting down with a heavy sigh. She had decided that she’d prefer _not_ to be involved in any conversation Maryse Lightwood and Inquisitor Herondale might have, neither of the women being particularly high up on her ‘favourite persons’ list.

"Believe me, Maryse, I’ve not forgotten where my time is needing to be spent. Now, let’s this meeting started, shall we?” Inquisitor Herondale addressed the room full of Shadowhunters as she took her seat at the head of the very long table, a very agitated Maryse Lightwood sat beside her.

Clary sunk into her chair, her mind occupied with the happenings of earlier that evening. Inquisitor Herondale’s words earlier had hit her painfully, but Clary knew in her heart she could never do what the woman asked. She could never give up on Jace… _ever_.

* * *

It was a very angry Jeremy Pontmercy who was dragging him along the floor of the musty hall; that was all Jace could make out in his current haze. His entire body hurt like the fires of hell had entered them; only once before had he experienced this kind of pain, and that was the day that Alec had weakened their Parabatai connection in order to track him. Not even the countless beatings at the hands of Valentine and his followers compared to the pain currently wracking his body.

Blood was running over his face and into his nose and mouth from where he'd been beaten, he could taste and smell it distinctly. He was crying out in pain; he could hear himself yelling out, even though he was not consciously aware that he was actually doing so. Jace struggled slightly, his body burning, but he was too weak from loss of blood to put up a fight. He didn't know what would happen to him now, but he did not care. It had been his choice to de-rune himself, knowing full well Valentine would torture, if not kill him. Jace didn’t like his chances of making it out of this alive and even if he did, he could still very well end up dead.

There was a creak as the door to Valentine’s chamber opened, and Jace was dumped unceremoniously down on the cold hard ground, at what he assumed was at Valentine’s feet.

"Valentine, Sir," Jeremy Pontmercy stated in an important tone, though Jace could hear a faint tremble in his voice. "I did what you asked."

There was a scuffling, and the rustle of clothes as Jace found his chin being nudged by someone's foot, in an investigative manner. Jace had his eyelids shut tight, as though the pain throughout his body would dissipate by doing so. The foot dropped away then kicked his shoulder hard; Jace merely winced, not wanting to give whoever had kicked him, the satisfaction of knowing just how much it had hurt him.

"You’re a fool, Jace." came Valentine’s deep voice. The voice was low, but it dripped with anger and loathing, like poison from the fangs of a snake, "Did you really think that I would spare you?"

Keeping his mouth tightly shut, only emitting groans of pain, Jace did not reply, knowing that in order to live, he had to play his cards carefully. He felt Valentine rustle past him and over to the other side of him.

"Jeremy," the voice was still deadly, "I asked you to punish him, not beat him within an inch of his life. Can he be healed?"

Someone, most likely Jeremy, kicked him over onto his back, and the warm breath he felt on his face suggested that someone was examining him. A hand grabbed his chin roughly and held his lolling head still. There was a pause, then the hand and breath receded, allowing Jace to curl up on the floor.

"His runes are gone, and there’s no way of bringing them back," came Jeremy’s serious voice, a slightly nervous tone lacing it.

There was a long pause, and the tension was laid so heavily in the room that it could have been cut with a Seraph blade, "I see,” was all Valentine responded with.

"What would you like me to do?" Jeremy asked as the rustling of fabric made its way away from Jace's injured form.

There was another long pause, "Make sure he is again, duly punished, and then dump his body in the river."

"Would you like him killed?" Jeremy asked.

"It matters not, with the amount of blood he's lost, he will die soon anyway," Valentine replied cooly before adding, "Make sure his last moments are painful."

"Would you like his memory erased?" Jeremy quipped.

Another pause, "In the unlikely event that he does survive, come morning, he won’t even remember his own name.”

"Understood," answered Jeremy. His voice was projected in another direction as Jeremy spoke again, "You, take him back to his cell, I will be there shortly."

"As for you, Pontmercy," Valentine's voice grew more faint as Jace was dimly aware of that he was again being dragged away and down a lengthy hallway, "We have to discuss your carelessness in the manner of Jace getting injured to such an extent."

Jace could not make out Jeremy’s response as his mind became blank, and he lost all sense of time and day.


	3. Chapter 3

Let's stop for a break," Izzy announced, as she flopped down onto the ground.

"Again?" Alec exclaimed impatiently, sighing heavily, “Izzy, we don’t have time for this. And if you say it’s because your feet hurt then maybe you shouldn’t have worn seven inch heels.” Alec snapped. “We should rest _after_ we've informed The Clave that we’ve completed our mission!"

Izzy cast a glance at her brother as she leaned her back up against a tree, "You know that I never wear anything less than seven inch heels; it’s part of my personal Shadowhunter code.”

"And what’s the other part? To be annoying as hell?" Alec rolled his eyes despairingly, his shoulders sagged, "You know, you’re the one who’s going to have to answer to The Clave in regard to our tardiness in getting back."

"This ‘tardiness’ you speak of, it didn't get in the way of our mission, did it?" Izzy replied, a sly smirk on her face as she relished in her older brothers anguish.

"No, but I would assume informing The Clave of our success is more important than your constant need for sarcastic comments," Alec retorted, but only got a shrug from his younger sister. He groaned loudly and looked over at Magnus Bane, the Warlock and Alec’s major man-crush, who’d agreed to join them on their current expedition, who had been silent during the ordeal, "Sorry..."

"Fret not, Alexander," Magnus commented, jotting notes down in his leather bound note book, "Isabelle is right, we have a lot of time to get back, we don't need to be hasty."

Alec narrowed his eyes in annoyance at Izzy, who simply grinned back at him. Turning back to Magnus before continuing, "I know that we have plenty of time before the cut off time of the mission my father tasked us with, but there’s nothing wrong with reporting in early, right?"

Magnus patted Alec’s broad shoulder in understanding, "We’ll get going soon, so just take a break. You’ll need all your energy for the trek back to New York."

Alec turned away from Magnus before groaning in increased frustration. All he wanted was to inform his father and the other members of The Clave that there were no issues with demonic activity on the outskirts of the city and down by East River, "You know what, I'm going to go out and scout the area."

"Whatever for?" Izzy piqued in, her lengthy black locks of hair blowing in the slight breeze, "Nobody's chasing us."

"I'm not putting the time of this break to waste, that's all," Alec retorted smugly. He leapt up to a branch in a tall tree before pausing and turning to his companions, "I'll be sure to phone in if anything happens to me."

"Like anything's going to happen," muttered Izzy to herself as she watched after Alec.

* * *

Clary slouched her way around the streets of New York after another long day of meetings at The Institute. She had met with Maureen at lunchtime and spent the time chatting with her friend, asking how band practice had been going and how Maureen’s first term at college had been treating her. Apparently the band was still undecided on an official name, having already changed it countless times (They were at an impasse over whether they should be called Champagne Enema or Rock Solid Panda. Clary preferred the latter). College was a blast, Maureen had said, which left Clary wondering how Art School would have been and what her life would’ve been like if Jace had never bumped into her that fateful night at Pandemonium.

Maureen had also said that it was too bad that Clary couldn't make it to many of their shows any more and expressed concerns over whether Clary was working herself too hard, commenting on just how tired Clary had looked. With a warm smile and a shake of her head, Clary had replied that she’d simply had a bad nights sleep and that she was sorry she’d missed their recent shows, promising that she’d make it to the next one. Clary felt truly touched by Maureen’s concern for her, given that Maureen was more Simon’s friend than her own and felt guilty about having to lie about just how tired she really was, despite having been given the remainder of the week off to rest and recuperate before her next mission.

Despite Clary having been told to be on standby, should any mission come through that required her presence, Clary hadn’t given herself much of a break, instead choosing to put her time towards training and helping out at The Institute. Despite her obvious fatigue, Clary had not yet gone back to the institute to rest, but rather had taken to wandering around the familiar streets that surrounded the institute, allowing her depression to envelop her. She found herself wandering to places where she had strong memories of Jace—the thriving nightclub down town, Pandemonium, where they had first met, the section of Central Park they had visited that housed one of the many entrances to the Seelie Court and to The Jade Wolf, the Chinese restaurant where they’d shared their first, rather electrifying, kiss…

Despite her wanderings, she avoided Taki’s, fearing that either Simon or Maia, whom she hoped were enjoying their date, may spot her. Lost in thought, Clary found her feet carrying her back in the direction of The Institute, through its ornate front doors, up the rickety elevator, that always stalled on the third floor, and down its winding hallways. When Clary became of where she was, she was already standing before the door to Jace’s bedroom.

Clary stepped forward and ran her slender white fingers across the grain of the wooden door, feeling a kind of resistance as she did so. Clary rattled at the doorknob, not expecting it to open but hoping it might give a little, but found that the handle didn't so much as budge; the door was sealed shut with strong magic, most probably placed there by a warlock, and a high standing one at that.

Clary let her hand fall to her side, a sigh of exasperation escaping her. As much as Clary had confidence in her ability to pick a lock, she knew that magic had to be used to counter the magic that already lay upon the door, effectively keeping the contents of the room hidden from outside view.

Clary pulled out her Stele from where she’d pocketed it in her bra (she’d had to improvise, given she’d ditched her usual get up for her white dress) and drew the rune for ‘open’ on the doors surface. No sooner had she completed writing the rune, did it fade, as if it hadn’t been drawn at all. The reason behind Clary’s desire to enter Jace’s empty room eluded even her, but she was determined nonetheless.

Clary slashed at the door with the tip of her stele, trying to hold the rune for ‘Open’ in her mind even as it appeared, black and jagged against the hard wood. The electrum coating on the door sizzled where the stele touched it. ‘Open’, she willed the door, ‘open, open, OPEN!’

A noise like ripping cloth tore through the hallway. Clary heard herself cry out as the door blew off its hinges entirely, crashing to the floor like a drawbridge falling. Clary ducked into the room, the fallen door wobbling under her feet.

Clary took in the room before her. The first thing Clary noticed was that a thick layer of dust had settled on just about on everything. Clary chuckled to herself softly; she knew that if Jace were to see his room in such a state, he’d be appalled; he was never one for having an untidy room. The room was exactly as it had been left the day Jace had last been it’s occupant; it had remained untouched and un-entered for a over a year.

Jace’s room had always come across as meeting the bare minimum expectation of what was considered necessary to have in a fully functional bedroom. There were never any personal affects of Jace’s to be found lining the walls or placed upon the rooms’ multitude of in-built shelves; there were no photos of him as a child, in fact, there were no photos of Jace at all, now that Clary thought about it. There were no posters of his favourite band or of his favourite movie and Clary was left wondering if Jace even _had_ a favourite movie. There were no books, no trinkets, not even a stash of porn magazines hidden under the bed.

It having been such a long time since she was last inside Jace’s room, Clary found herself drifting about the space, taking it all in, but found herself too afraid of laying a finger on anything. She wanted so desperately to hold something of his, to grasp onto some semblance of his memory, before it slipped away.

It wasn't until Clary made her way over to the dresser in the corner of the room that she laid her hand on any of Jace’s belongings. Pulling at the top drawer slowly, she opened the dresser and reached her hand out until it met with the feeling of soft fabric. Clary curled her fingers around the item of clothing and pulled it out to inspect it; it was Jace’s old long sleeved blue t-shirt, the one he’d given her to wear after they’d gotten back to the institute following their rendezvous with Meliorn and the Seelie Queen in her court; the day the Seelie Queen had forced the two of them to kiss as a part of her twisted sense entertainment, claiming that the kiss that Clary most desired was the one that would set them free and allow them to leave the Seelie Court unharmed.

Clary shook her head, willing the memory of the events of that night away. She had hated Jace for having kissed her, but had hated herself more for having hurt Simon. The image of his heartbroken expression forever etched into her memory.

Clary held the too-big shirt that she had in her hands across her chest, as though it were some kind of a shield, thinking of how it smelled like Jace; like soap and smoke and coppery blood.

Flopping onto the padded bench that sat at the end of Jace’s four-poster bed, Clary took to unzipping the white dress she’d been wearing, bringing it up over her head and tossing it onto the arm chair that sat uninhabited in the corner by the door leading into Jace’s bathroom. She pulled her arms and head through Jace’s well-worn t-shirt, the size of it enveloping her slender frame, coming down to midway down her thigh, the feel of it soft upon her skin.

Despite her fatigue, Clary decided she wasn’t quite ready for sleep to take her just yet. She found herself trailing out into the deserted hallway and down towards where she knew there was a broom closet. She’d never actually seen anyone cleaning the institute, despite that it was always spotless. Clary wasn’t even sure how she knew that there was a cleaners store on this level and could only guess that Jace had mentioned it in passing at some point in time.

Finding the door of the cleaners store a little stiff, Clary pulled at the door, willing it to fling open. Once she’d managed to get the door to unstick from its hinges, she took to grabbing all manner of cleaning supply; a broom, mop and bucket, washcloths and room spray.

 _‘For when he comes back’_ , Clary had told herself silently, not knowing when or even if, Jace would return.

It was the broom that had started it—sweeping the bedroom floor had soon become moping both the bedroom and bathroom. When that task was finished, she washed all the surfaces down, and cleaned out the cupboards, sorting and folding the clothes that had once offered Jace protection from demons and downworlders. After that, Clary came across the dusty sheets in the small linen press and promptly batted them all of their dust out the window, even going as far as to remake the beds.

After every surface had been cleaned and polished to a state that even Jace wouldn’t be able to criticise, Clary collapsed back onto Jace’s bed utterly spent and stared up at the ceiling. Her mind was as blank as Jace’s decorative style. Rolling over, she realised she was still wearing Jace’s blue shirt. Curling into it like she’d once curled around her favourite blanket when she was very small, Clary closed her eyes. It wasn't until she had fallen asleep, that Clary realised she had done the enormous chore of cleaning for no one.

* * *

Alec mapped the area, making a rough perimeter around where he had left Magnus and Isabelle. In all honesty, he couldn't believe Izzy sometimes—sure; they had completed their mission, but that gave them no reason to wander lazily back to The Institute, taking time to smell the flowers along the way. Sometimes he really wondered how he and Isabelle were related.

Pausing to lean lightly upon a sturdy tree trunk, Alec surveyed the area. There was absolutely nothing to hint that there was a remote possibility that they'd be attacked by anything, demon or downworlder. Looking about he wondered dimly why he was even bothering—the setting was completely off for an attack, what with the sun shining brightly overhead, and the birds twittering cheerfully.

This was ridiculous; they should have just kept on going, regardless of how sore Izzy’s feet may or may not be.

Inhaling deeply in order to let out a heavy sigh, Alec caught the fragrances that hung in the air. There was a heavy scent of wildflowers, mixed with a hint of freshly cut green grass, the breeze containing the smell of new leaves on the trees. He paused in the middle of his sigh and simply smiled softly to himself; how these smells reminded him of Idris, of home.

Deciding it was just about time to head back to where he’d left the others, he halted briefly; they were still on break, and there was time left before he needed to be back—there really was no point in continuing scouting, so he might as well do what Magnus had suggested he do: relax. Looking about the area again with his almond shaped orbs, Alec made sure they were not in any danger—though it was already obvious they weren't—before slumping back on the tree trunk, his arms folded over his chest. He decided to let himself make the most of the downtime, a rarity this day and age.

Closing his eyes and focusing, his sense of smell became enhanced, as he let the delicate scents of what the wind carried wash over him like a kind of Spring perfume. He marvelled at the acuteness at which he could distinguish the distinct scents; amazed at how his ‘scent’ rune enhanced his ability, for better or for worse. He was even able to pick out the names of a few individual scents, based on the fragrances he smelled, and probably would have been able to name more if he had known what the flowers looked like.

The cool breeze shifted slightly in direction and a new wave of smells washed over him—the smell of budding flowers, a touch of moist earth, and faintly, the unmistakable smell of a soon to bloom midnight flower bush. Slowly, a new odour wove its way into his nose—an unpleasant, metallic-like odour. It was so sharp in comparison to the other smells that he wondered why he had not noticed it earlier. A deep frown creased his brow, his dark eyes flying open. He knew that smell only too well. It was the scent of blood.

* * *

Clary’s nights after her conversation with Inquisitor Herondale had been filled with nightmares from that night at Renwick’s; last night had been no exception. She often woke feeling more tired than how’d she felt going to bed.

Today, thankfully, had been entirely uneventful, allowing her utter exhaustion not to interfere with any serious task that she may have needed to tackle. Clary had decided to spend her time in the hospital wing of the Institute, working in helping any Shadowhunters who’d returned from their mission a little worse for wear, mending injuries that healing runes weren’t quite equipped to treat.

The day had passed quickly, Clary busying herself with otherwise menial tasks between treating the injured. It was mid afternoon when she was dismissed, given the remainder of the day off to dedicate to training, rune studies or to simply catch up on the many hours of lost sleep she’d accumulated over the past few months.

As Clary trudged her way up to her room from the medical wing she hardly felt tired at all. The sky outside the window wasn't remotely dark, so she doubted she’d be able to find much rest in trying to sleep now. Maybe she could see if Simon were free to watch re-runs of Naruto or something.

Dragging her feet, Clary wandered the winding corridors of the institute, going mostly on autopilot; as there was nothing to do, there was nothing to keep Clary’s thoughts from becoming a little morbid. That was where she was now, in the deepest recesses of her mind, despairing over the loss of Jace.

"Is that you, Clary?"

Clary looked up with a small smile on her face, ready to fool whoever was greeting her into thinking that she was not as miserable as she felt, but her face quickly fell again as she found out the caller of her name. It was Malik Safar, leaning up against the door frame to his office.

"What do you want, Malik?" she asked heavily, not in the mood for arguing.

Malik gave a smirk, "Sorry, Clary, didn't know I wasn't allowed to ask what was getting you down."

Clary sighed and rubbed her temples, a slight headache coming on, "It's nothing… nothing I'd expect _you_ to remember anyway.”

Malik rested his hands on his hips and frowned a little, "Care to share?"

"Not really," was Clary's blunt reply before she started walking again.

"I'm betting it has something to do with why you were wearing white the other day?” Malik remarked snidely, as Clary drew level with him, "Who died?"

Clary came to an abrupt stop, her feet suddenly refusing to move. Wisps of her magenta coloured hair dangled in front of her dark green eyes, hiding the tears that were forming as her head was hung dolefully.

"Nobody died," Clary whispered quietly, refusing to look at Malik, "Just please leave me alone today."

Stepping nimbly in front of Clary with his arms stretched wide, Malik blocked the path as Clary took a step forward. "Tell me, Clary."

Again, like the Inquisitor’s tone, it was an order, not a request, spoken in a way that could not be argued against. With a quiet exhalation, Clary replied quietly, "It's been a year to the day, as of three days ago, that Jace was captured."

Malik, whose arms were still stretched out wide, slowly dropped them to the side, looking worriedly at the girl whom he had once not been overly fond of.

“That means that Valentine could have done anything to him…" Clary continued without being asked to do so, "He could have been tortured, have had his runes taken away…”

A tear fell off the end of her nose and landed with a quiet drip on the ground. Hugging her arms to her chest as though doing so would help make her disappear.

"I just need to rest, Malik," she said shakily, "I need my strength for tomorrow, you know?"

Malik did not even raise a finger to stop Clary as she passed by him, but stared after her, not sure what to do, if there _was_ something he could do.

Quietly and quickly Clary headed down the hallway, slipping past open doorways unnoticed, and up the stairs to her bedroom. Malik would probably cause her a world of trouble now that she had revealed the reason behind her mourning, but Clary simply failed to care.

Gingerly she took out the witch stone from her pocket. It was the stone that Jace had given her. He’d told her that every Shadowhunter had one. It was the only thing she had of his, the only reminder of a happy time long past. She put the stone close to her heart, and lay down on her bed, letting the tears streak silently down her face, the hurt, too much to bear.

* * *

Alec had straightened at the smell of the blood, and made his way across the terrain quickly, following the scent as quickly as he could before the wind changed directions. The energy that he had concentrated in his nose was dismissed as the smell became overwhelming—now, even without his enhanced senses, he could find the odour distinctly in the air, and soon a small thin trail of blood could be seen on the river-bed.

Lunging forward, he followed it, noting how it was straight in direction, like something had dragged itself along the shore. The straight trail then ended in a pool of blood, and Alec dropped down to the ground, touching the red liquid experimentally. It was sticky and partially dried; whatever had been there had only been there a few hours earlier. The trail of blood then continued up the shore, except it was now splattered in a wavering line. Whatever had been bleeding had either escaped, or had been left to die but had struggled onward, determined to survive.

Despite the age of the blood, and the amount lost, there was still a small chance that whatever it was, or _whoever_ it was, was still alive somewhere. Of course it could be the blood of an injured animal, but it was important to be sure—it might just save someone's life.

Quickly, Alec ran after the trail of blood, following it for a while on the pebbled shore; it was thinner than before, like some of the bleeding had stopped; the blood only having pooled where the victim had stopped to rest. Alec jumped over a tree root, side stepped a branch, and almost tripped, as the river seem to cut off abruptly before him into a kind of secluded bay.

The trail of blood continued into the clearing, where Alec saw it disappear behind some rather sizeable rocks. He looked about for anything that was potentially dangerous and marveled at the sight. A large, fully-grown midnight flower bush grew by the edge of the water—this must have been the bush that he had caught the scent of earlier, before he’d smelt the blood.

Having decided that there was no immediate danger, Alec crept forward, careful of where he trod, keeping an eye on the trail of blood. Whatever it was, despite the severe injuries it had suffered, had managed to haul itself up from the river and into the secluded bay. Alec trudged up the side, and saw the path of blood disappear around the side of the rock formation, where it most likely continued further along the shore.

Alec walked slowly up to the rocks and allowed his hand to brush up against one of the midnight flower buds that grew upon the bush near the edge of the water. Peering around the bush, he jumped back in surprise—the trail of blood had ended, to reveal a crumpled figure at its base. Alec clutched at his beating heart—he had not expected there to be anything there at all.

Throwing aside his fear, he quickly knelt down next to the figure. A boy—no, a young man—around his mid-late teens, perhaps even early twenties, was sprawled out at the base of the midnight flower bush. His hair was matted with blood, along with the clothing he wore. His chin was resting on his chest, and his longish hair covered his face. The boys left arm was broken and bent at a grotesque angle; both arms were covered with numerous cuts and burn marks and his clothing was both soaked and torn to shreds. Some of the leaves from the midnight flower bush had drifted across in the breeze and landed on his unconscious form, creating a poetic and grotesque juxtaposition. Alec, despite himself, felt pity in his heart—he was so young, to die so soon.

A slight movement caught his eye, as he was about to leave, feeling grim from the sight—he thought he saw the young man's chest rise and fall faintly, like he was taking a shallow breath. Perhaps it was just his clothes fluttering in the wind, but nonetheless Alec reached out to find a pulse at his neck. Much to his surprise and wonder, he found one, thumping weakly against his calloused fingers—it was a miracle the boy was still alive.

Taking out his sensor from his jacket pocket, waited for Isabelle to answer the call. "Izzy, Magnus—there's something you should see."

"Gotcha, what's up?" came Izzy’s voice.

"Just come!" Alec replied in a frustrated manner, "I'm northwest of your position by about a click. Look for me standing by a midnight flower bush."

"We'll be there soon," came Magnus’s voice.

Cancelling the call, Alec turned and lifted the boy's right arm. His healing abilities were limited at best, but at least he could bandage the wounds on the boy’s arms and legs while he waited for Magnus and his sister to find him. Taking out a small salve out of the pouch on his back, and opening his water bottle, he began to clean and dress the boys wounds. He wished Izzy and Magnus would hurry—again, it was almost a miracle that the young man was alive after how far he dragged himself through the water. But miracle or no, if he did not hurry to assist him, he could die regardless of his efforts.

A rustle came from behind him and Magnus and his sister, Izzy, appeared at the young man's side, bending down to examine him.

"He needs help," he said turning to them, "He's still alive, though barely. Magnus, can you help me set his arm?"

Magnus nodded as he took the boy's arm gently in his hands. He held the two parts of the arm in his hands before speaking, "What happened to him…?”

“I don’t know, but regardless of who or what did this to him, if we don’t act fast, he’ll die. If we get a reaction from setting his arm then there's chance he might live, opposed to no reaction, which would mean he's a dead man." Alec said severely.

Magnus nodded as Alec readied a long bandage while Izzy found a branch to use as a splint. Magnus turned the broken arm in his hands, bringing the two pieces together—Alec and Izzy watched the young man anxiously for a reaction, and both breathed a sigh of relief as a painful groan came from the unconscious figure. His head lolled slightly to the side, and rested on his right shoulder. Alec blinked at the state of his face.

A long gash ran across forehead, very near to his eyes, and the blood from that wound had run down his face and dried. There were burns and cuts on his forehead and cheeks; they looked dirty and painful. Not having given much attention to the man’s physical appearance up until now, Alec took the time to take in the young mans face. He was very handsome, a sharp jawline and, despite the blood and dirt currently streaked across his skin, Alec could tell the young mans complexion was unblemished. The one thing Alec did note that was quite unusual was the star shaped scar on the man’s right shoulder. _His scar_. Alec’s eyes widened as the boy's identity became apparent to him. He opened his mouth to speak, but Izzy beat him to it.

"Oh God…" she remarked quietly in shock, "It's Jace."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya boi finally makes an appearance. Thanks for keeping us all waiting, Jace.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise in advance if there's any typos or weird names you may not recognise. This is a re-work of an old LOK (Legend of Korra) fic that I'd written a number of years ago, so in my haste to churn through the chapters, I may have missed a few Avatar references. Oops!

It was 3AM when someone shook Clary hastily awake. Sitting up groggily, she took in her surroundings, struggling to make out any discernible shapes in the darkness. Clary remembered having come to Jace’s room last night but had forgotten that she’d never made it back to her own room, having fallen asleep, exhaustion having overwhelmed her.

Clary murmured an incoherent question as she winced at her sore back. The position she had fallen asleep in had been very uncomfortable and as a result she was stiff and sore all over. Her fingers had also evidently stiffened as well as she had trouble prying them off the witchstone that she was still clutching. When she set the photo aside, she faced whoever it was that had woken her and was met with Maryse Lightwood looking at her, her face frantic with panic.

"Maryse, what's the matter?" Clary asked, her voice hoarse as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

"You’re needed in the medical wing," Maryse said in a serious tone, "I was given specific instructions to come and bring you to the medical wing, immediately. An emergency case just arrived and Magnus is here and he says he requires your assistance."

In an instant Clary was awake and running down the hallway, pressing the button to the elevator frantically. Maryse was yelling something after her from the entrance to Jace’s room as Clary pulled on her velvet coat.

“They said they wouldn't have asked for you if Magnus hadn't specifically requested—" Maryse was abruptly cut off as Clary ran into the elevator, the door sliding closed behind her. As soon as the elevator arrived on the lower ground floor, Clary ran as quickly as she could in the direction of the medical wing. No later than five minutes later, Clary burst through the doors to where the infirmary and operating theatre were, where a team of specially trained medical staff met her.

"What's the situation?" Clary asked, not wanting to waste any times on explanations. If it was urgent enough to call her so early in the morning, she could not afford to waste any time. Clary had only been called out twice before in the previous year, and she knew she had to be ready the instant they called. She had understood this before she became a fully-fledged Shadowhunter—she had to be able to sacrifice her own well being for the sake of someone else. That went without saying.

"I don't know the full extent of the situation myself," one of the Shadowhunters replied uncertainly, "I was just told to get you. I was not informed on current events. I do believe it has to do with the group of people that came in a few minutes ago."

"Who?" Clary asked as they began to run up the hospital's many steps.

"Magnus Bane, Alec and Isabelle Lightwood," replied the Shadowhunter, as Clary ran for the stairs, ignoring the slow elevator, "Second floor basement, room two hundred twenty one!"

Clary practically flew up the stairs and down the hall, rushing noisily into the designated room as she flung the doors wide. ‘ _By the Angel, please don’t be Alec or Izzy_. The sight before her had her worried—not only was Magnus bent over the patient in deep concentration, but he was surrounded by advanced healers, who Clary had become acquainted with during her time at The Institute, were all working on the patient too. As soon as Clary entered, Magnus looked up at her.

"Clary, help me heal the wounds on his legs," one of the medical staff barked at her—Magnus was in deep concentration, and Clary realised that he was not to be interrupted.

 _‘_ His _legs? Is it Alec?’_

Quickly she dashed over to Magnus’s side and began peeling away the makeshift bandages that had been applied, gasping at the sight. There were deep gashes and dangerous burns all along the left leg, and glancing over at the work that the Shadowhunter who’d met her at the elevator, who had entered the room shortly after herself, was now doing. The young mans other leg appeared in the same condition. Without a second thought, Clary began to remove the bloodied bandages, reaching for various salves and ointments that lay on a stainless steel tray by the bed. Clary knew that the cuts and burns were easy enough to heal, but the patient seemed near death.

She glanced up towards the head and torso of the figure for a brief moment, seeing how severe the rest of the wounds were. The other healers were working on repairing a broken arm, while Magnus held both hands extended over the patient's head. His long sleeves dangled down, making it impossible for Clary to see the face.

_‘If it’s not Alec…Who is it?’_

Turning her attention back to her task, she focused on restoring the wounds. The quick glance she had taken also revealed a bag of blood hanging near the head of the bed, dripping the red fluid into the patient's veins. Clary knew if she could heal the wounds, the patient would lose less blood.

Slowly she moved her hands up the leg, applying a soothing salve to each wound with care, being sure that there was not a scar left on the patient's body. When she reached the knee, the other healers, who had just finished setting the broken arm, took over. Clary took a split second breather before taking the newly mended arm, cleaning out the cuts and soothing the burns that lay upon it.

Hours dragged by, but to the apprehensive young Shadowhunter, it seemed to take years. Sweat beaded her brow, but she remained committed to her task—she felt that if she were able to help as many people as she could, become stronger as a Shadowhunter, then perhaps one day she would be as well recognised as any of the Lightwood’s or even Jace. She had to save this young man, even if she did not know who he was, because each life saved strengthened her, and for each life lost, she strove harder the next time.

The group of healers, including herself, worked tirelessly over the young man and were eventually finished healing his body. Only Magnus remained, his energy focused on the young man's head.

Clary left the bedside, knowing there was nothing more she could do to help. Splashing cold water on her face, she knew that only Magnus could fix whatever wounds remained. The female Shadowhunter who’d met her when Clary first arrived at the medical wing came and stood beside her as they watched the Magnus hard at work.

"What happened?" Clary asked, rubbing her face dry.

"I'm not sure," the woman murmured quietly, "But Alec’s team came in with him in that terrible state—barely alive. Apparently they found him on the way back from their mission."

Clary nodded and hoped that whoever the young man was, that he would be okay.

"Come," the female Shadowhunter said, beckoning Clary to follow, "We shouldn’t disturb Magnus right now. There's nothing more we can do to help anyway, so we had best leave him to concentrate on the task at hand."

Clary nodded numbly as she followed the older woman from the small room, feeling utterly and completely spent.

* * *

It wasn't until late the next morning that Clary pushed open the doors to that lead into the medical wing of The New York Institute, still feeling drained from the night before. She dragged her feet over the threshold, not really wanting to work that day.

"Hey, Clary," the young woman, named Irina Cartwright, who’d she worked along side yesterday, greeted as she approached the young Shadowhunter, "Magnus is waiting for you in the office upstairs."

"Okay, thank you," Clary yawned, the lack of sleep not helping her be rid of her exhaustion.

"I hope you slept well," Irina said, leading Clary along to the elevator, clutching a stack of papers close to her chest, "though judging by that yawn I’d guess not. I can't imagine that you had an easy time of it after last night. I'm amazed that you could remain so calm during the procedure."

Following Irina as they entered the elevator, Clary was too tired to even ask what Irina was talking about. The words themselves made sense, but she could not see how they applied to her. She had seen people in worse condition than the young man the previous night—she had seen Shadohunters die as she continued to help heal them, struggling to keep them alive even though she knew it was futile. The Shadowhunter code had always taught that she had to recognise when to give up; that not all battles could be won, but Clary could not bear the thought of quitting.

"I know that if it had been me in your position, I wouldn't be able to handle it," Irina said as she continued as the elevator rumbled slowly upward, "Magnus is helping the Consul in filling out the paperwork in the office down the hall. Please come with me."

Clary, who had opened her mouth to ask what Irina was going on about, shut it as the elevator doors opened and she was required to match the young woman's brisk pace as they marched down the white walled hallway.

* * *

The moment he woke, he was met with a feeling of fogginess. Understandably, Jace had been placed under heavy sedation and despite the fact that he knew that he would not wake to anything else; it still took him a little time to register what had happened to him. He first noticed the dull throbbing in his body, which he supposed was an improvement to the burning pain he had felt just days prior. His left arm was tingling slightly, but it was no longer hurting. He could see that whatever parts of his skin that were still visible, were void of his runes. Dimly Jace tried to remember what happened, and where he was.

He remembered the pain clearly—he was unsure of how he had been tortured, but he knew that he had been put under the method by some strange techniques he had never heard of. Whatever it had been, he felt lucky that he had even survived it, as it had been so excruciating. After that, he could dimly remember being carried, more like dragged, and throw over board into a strong current of water, left to drown. The memories leading up to that event and the memories following were a little hazy, but he recalled the midnight flower bush—the smell had been pungent, seeming like a haven amidst all the agony he felt, and lying in the foliage, he had prepared himself to die. Much to his dismay he found himself alive, lying in a foreign location, having no recollection of how he got there or why he had been rescued.

The pungent aroma that was in the air was far from pleasant, but it was enough for him to realise he was most likely in a hospital, or some other medical facility, which would account for the sudden disappearance of his wounds. But while the information was somewhat helpful, it still did not help him understand where the medical facility was, or even what part of the United States he was in.

Jace sat up slowly, trying to gather information from what he knew of the surrounding area, his vision still blurry and his head still groggy due to the sedative drugs. He dimly recognised the room he was currently in, knowing it was a room in The New York Institute’s medical wing. Lying back down in the bed Jace allowed his current situation to sink in, really take it—He’d never, not for a day, considered that he would end up back here, not unless by some kind of miracle, which clearly his rescue and revival had been.

Jace closed his weary eyes and listened carefully—he would have to wait until someone came and checked on him before he could get some answers. He lay quietly, knowing his expression probably looked grim, but there was little he could do about his situation—the only thing he could do was wait.

* * *

Irina and Clary flung open the doors to the small room where Magnus was awaiting them patiently. The room in question was a small lounge, which the medical staff and healers at The Institute used during their scheduled breaks—Clary had only been there a couple times, because normally she wasn’t permitted in this area of the medical wing. When they entered, Magnus could be seen sitting on one of the lounges, bent over some paperwork that he had spread out on a coffee table.

"Ah, Clary," Magnus looked up from the form he was filling out in front of him, taking a sip of what Clary assumed was tea as he did so.

Magnus indicated that Clary should take a seat, while Irina stood attentively next to the doorway. Trying not to yawn, Clary made her way over and sat down comfortably on the lounge across from Magnus, uttering a quick "good morning".

"You must have been exhausted, though perhaps not as much as I," Magnus remarked, looking at Clary's disheveled appearance. Her black clothes may have made her appear slightly more poised, but it also accented Clary's fatigue, "I had expected that you would have refused to leave last night, or at least shown up at the crack of dawn this morning."

Clary quirked an eyebrow and inquired, "Magnus, why on earth would I want to stay _here_ the entire night? Hospitals and medical wings aren’t exactly my favourite place to be, you know, given what happened to my mum and all."

Magnus looked over at Clary with an astonished look on her face, "I thought you would have been worried about him."

"About the patient last night?" Clary asked quizzically, peering at her healing mentor, "Well… it wasn’t Alec or anyone else I know so…Is there any particular reason why I would be worried about him?"

Magnus and Irina looked at each other, before looking back to Clary. "Didn't you recognise who we were healing last night?" Magnus sounded surprised.

A little seed of worry sprouted somewhere in her dim and tired mind, her heart beginning to pound against her chest. Had it been someone she knew? What if it had been Luke? Or even Max and she hadn't realised? Attentiveness began to return as she spoke her response.

"No…the sleeves of your coat blocked my view of his face," she said, a frown creasing her weary brow.

Magnus put down her cup of tea then proceeded to put his fingertips together in a thoughtful manner. "So all this time you didn't know who—? No wonder you left and slept in! Oh well, it probably was for the better that you didn't know, you probably would have been unable to rest otherwise."

“Yeah well, as you can probably make out from my current appearance, I didn’t really get much rest as it is.” Clary bit her lip nervously, her drowsiness quickly fading, "Are you going to tell me who was unconscious and knocking on deaths door last night or not?"

A deep sigh escaped Magnus’s lips. "Perhaps you had better sit down—" Magnus began to say.

"I’m already sitting down, Magnus," Clary interrupted.

"Oh, right…well…" the warlock took another sip of his ‘tea’, "This may come as a shock to you, Clary, but the young man we were working so hard to keep alive last night…was Jace."

Clary suddenly leapt to her feet, her turquoise eyes wide, her throat going dry. Any grogginess still left was instantly evaporated, " _Was_?!"

 _"Is!"_ Magnus corrected hurried as he saw the look of horror on Clary's face, "Goodness, Clarissa, we didn't work so hard only to let him d—Irina!"

Clary had made a dash for the door, but as the warlock called out to the young Shadowhunter, Irina stepped in front of her and blocked her path. Clary skidded to a halt and glared at Irina, then turned her head to look at Magnus, her eyes taking on a pleading look.

"Let me pass," she begged through the tears that threatened to escape her, her voice almost inaudible despite the quietness of the room, "Please, let me go and see him!"

"Sit down, Clary," Magnus motioned for the young Shadowhunter to do so.

"Magnus..."

"Clary." Magnus’s voice was harsher now, a warning tone concealed in the edge of his intonation.

Reluctantly, and completely against her will, Clary trudged back to the lounge and plopped herself onto it, her head hanging in her hands. "Why can't I see him?" she whispered.

"Oh, you can," Magnus replied patiently, lacing his fingers together and resting them in his lap, "I just have a couple of important things I need to discuss with you before hand. It won’t take long."

"Like what?" Clary raised her head. Magnus could see the tears beginning to gather in Clary’s dark green eyes.

"Clary, you firstly have to realise that the Jace lying in that bed may not be the Jace that you knew just a year ago," Magnus replied with admirable patience, "Valentine could have done any number of things to him, meaning his current mental state could be unstable; though the preliminary tests that we ran when he was unconscious seem to suggest otherwise. I am concerned for your well fare, that is all.” Magnus gave a moment for Clary to process this before continuing, “The second matter that I wish to discuss with you is the extent of Jace’s injuries. Jace has suffered major injury to almost every inch of his body, the likes of which I expect you could not see from your angle."

Clary was suddenly anxious, "What are you implying, Magnus?”

"I managed to clean up and heal most of it, and there should be no scars left from the incident, however…" Magnus unlaced his fingers from where they lay in his lap, and rested them on his knees, bending over and looking at Clary directly before saying, "Clary…Jace has been de-runed."

There was a very long, silent pause. A small trembling began to tingle in Clary's fingers, and then her arms started to shake. Her voice cracked when she said, "Is there nothing you can do to heal him? Is there nothing you can do to bring them back?"

Magnus shook his head slowly from side to side in an apologetic and melancholy manner, "Nothing with my healing abilities. I wish I could help him, but there is nothing more I can do for him."

"Will he ever be able to live as a Shadowhunter again?"

"Perhaps if you yourself tried teaching him how to, then yes; Jace may regain his Shadowhunting abilities, but rarely has anyone who has been de-runed, ever retained any semblance of their old self.” Magnus said, his response grim.

 _"May_ regain his Shadowhunting abilities?" Clary echoed faintly, "What are his chances?"

"We're talking less than four percent," Magnus replied, "His injuries were beyond anything I’ve ever dealt with before; I did the best I could, given how little magic his body could withstand. The fact that he has been de-runed… it means that over time, his knowledge of the Shadow world, his memories and all he knows, will disappear."

Clary fell silent, staring at her hands lying in her lap. What had happened to Jace? Who had done this to him? How could someone as skilled as he was be de-runed? Sadness washed over her as she sympathised with him, so much that it hurt her to think of the suffering he must have gone through, the frustration of having his runes taken from him.

"Lastly, there is the matter of him needing to adjust to his current state," Magnus said, turning and looking out the window, "it will be difficult for him to accept that he may never regain his runes or be a Shadowhunter again. I believe he could benefit from being around someone who has empathy, who has been in the same situation that he now finds himself in."

"Meaning?" Clary asked, frowning slightly. “I mean, is there any particular reason why you are brining these things to my attention?" Clary asked wearily, desperately wanting to go and see Jace.

"Yes. It goes without me saying that I would like you, Clary, to be there during Jace’s recuperation," Magnus explained, looking over at Clary passively, "I also want you to be the one to interrogate him on any information he has on Valentine."

Clary looked at Magnus in an aghast manner, "What?! Why me? Shouldn’t The Clave or the Inquisitor be the one to ask him those things? And… so soon? He’s only just been bought back.”

"Don't worry—the interrogation will be torture-free, he has suffered enough torture already, that, The Clave has assured me." Magnus replied, waving his hand dismissively before Clary could question Magnus’s sense of humour, "What I was hoping, was a state of mental interrogation—in which you will find out what happened to him, afterwards he will be submitted to further questioning by someone else, Inquisitor Herondale most likely. But at the moment, you know Jace better than anyone in this city, more so than even his own Parabatai, and while you haven't seen him in a long time, there may be aspects, goals and priorities that haven't changed over time. You can use those against him.”

"Magnus, I will never use anything that Jace tells me, against him. But what I don't understand is why you’re asking me to do this. Jace knows me," Korra replied, "Won't he realise what I’m doing?"

"I don’t know, Clary," Magnus replied, "He has seen Irina and myself, briefly, before the sedative drugs pulled him under, and has recognised the both of us, however he has not once asked after you. When I said the preliminary tests that we had run came back clear, I told you the truth, but we are yet to run any tests linking to his memory and his ability to recognise people or places."

Clary closed her tired eyes. All of the information that she’d received in the last ten minutes being too much for her currently weary mind to process. The one thing she was able to process was the fact that Jace may no longer recognise, let alone remember her. She felt her world crumbling around her. Jace, the one person who knew Clary perhaps better than she knew herself, may be gone forever.

After a moment Clary spoke, "I will do it," she resigned with a profound sigh.

"That's a good girl," Magnus praised with a smile, taking a sip of his ‘tea’, which had been forgotten for the duration of their conversation.

"Magnus—"

Magnus’s smile faded slightly, and lowered the tea from his lips, "Hm?"

"I want to be the _only_ one who rehabilitates Jace."

There was a drawn out silence and Clary stared at Magnus with fierce determination, letting her know that she would not hear otherwise. The silence was broken by the warlocks heavy sigh.

"It will not be easy." Magnus states, his gaze piercing.

"I realise that, but I owe this to him.”

Magnus closed his eyes before replying in a resigning tone. "Very well then," he rubbed his temples slowly.

Clary set her jaw, "Take me to see Jace. _Now_."

* * *

It was only an hour since Jace had woken up and _finally_ , after what seemed like an eternity, someone had come to check on his condition. The door slid open noisily and then was shut with the same amount of racket. Soft, tentative footsteps approached, and there was a small screech on the floor as a chair was drawn forth. The person could be heard settling down on the chair and there was a slight rustling of papers. After a moment, the visitor cleared their throat and Jace determined that the owner of the voice was male, most likely a healer of some sort.

Jace willed his tired eyes to open, and spotted a man he recognised, sitting in a chair on the right side of his hospital bed. "Magnus Bane?" Jace struggled to get out, coughing slightly at the effort, "Is that really you?"

"Yes, Jace. It’s good to see you." Magnus replied, his voice sounding vaguely concerned at the difficulty he had at speaking.

"I am in New York City, aren't I?" he asked, having less difficulty this time.

"Yes, Jace. You’re home." Magnus answered his question.

" _Home_ ," Jace sighed almost inaudibly, "It’s been a while…”

There was a short pause, then a weighty sigh, "Jace, I realise you’re still recovering from your injuries, that you no doubt know are quite grave, but I wish to start your rehabilitation as soon as possible.”

He gave a small nod in reply, "I understand. When will we begin?"

The answer he received was a slight smirk, which somewhat confused him. Magnus settled his confusion by saying, "Before we begin, there’s someone waiting outside whom I believe will be essential in your rehabilitation.”

Jace nodded again, his consciousness struggling to stay in control against the sedative drugs still flowing through his system.

"You can come in," Magnus turned in her seat, directing her voice to the sliding door.

Jace directed his gaze to the sliding door, genuinely curious as to who was waiting on the other side. Again, the door slid open noisily and then was shut with the same amount of racket, and a woman of similar colouring to himself walked in. Her eyes were directed to the floor, and it seemed to Jace as though she was avoiding lifting her head and meeting his gaze. Some kind of warning bell went off in Jace’s head as his eyes followed the young woman’s every move. She looked so startlingly familiar that his heart seemed to ache at the sight of her; the only problem was, Jace couldn’t figure out why.

After a moment of tense silence Magnus introduced the young woman who was now standing beside him, still refusing to look up into Jace’s face. "This is Clarissa, Clary, for short. She will be responsible for your rehabilitation, and hopefully, full recovery.”

For the first time since she had entered the hospital room, the young woman, who Jace noted was uniquely beautiful with her snow coloured skin and magenta coloured locks, lifted her face to meet his gaze. Jaces’s heart stopped when her eyes met his own. Gold was reflected in bottle brush green, and bottle brush green was reflected in gold as the two took each other in. Jace almost choked as he recognised the young woman that stood before him.

“C-Clary?”

"Hey, Jace…" came the simple reply.

It was a basic answer, but the words caused Jace to stiffen slightly, his stomach clenching unpleasantly. Her voice was so strained and she sounded _so_ tired.

"How are you feeling?" she continued.

Jace suddenly felt exceedingly dizzy and he wasn’t sure whether it was due to the drugs flowing through his veins or because of the sudden onslaught of images that were flashing through his mind. Images of Valentine and his loyal servants, of himself and his gaunt features reflected in a mirror and of the scorch marks on his skin from Vanetine's weapon of choice; the agony rune, that members of The Circle had consistently inflicted upon him were among the few that stood out. Jace doubled over in his bed, squeezing his eyes shut in an effort to shut off the flow of images, no, _memories_ , of the most unpleasant kind. Before he realised what he was doing, he had leapt out of the bed, across the room to where Clary stood, and clasped his hands around her throat.

Tightening his hands around her neck he shouted, “It’s you! It’s because of you that Valentine captured me! It’s because of you that I suffered at the hands of a psychotic serial killer! It’s all because of you! You…you…”

Clary’s dark green eyes widened in shock, not only at Jace’s actions but at his words also. She dug her nails into his thin forearms and drew blood, trying desperately to pry his hands away from her neck, however found she was powerless against him, even in his weakened state. Her eyes held his, and she could tell that he was no longer aware of what he was doing, his golden orbs having clouded over. Despite her best efforts, and her strength, she could not remove his hands from her jugular, her breaths becoming ragged and vision blurring.

“J-Jace… Jace, this isn’t you.” She struggled.

"Jonathon,” Magnus had his hands firmly secured around Jace’s arms, having called out for help during the kerfuffle, “Let her go. You don’t want to do this.” His voice was patient and kind, though not entirely void of concern. "It’s true that Clary was there the day you were captured, but it’s not her fault. Clary doesn’t want to hurt you, she wants to help you."

Jace’s grip around Clary’s neck finally loosened. Magnus took Jace’s hands in his own and led him back to the bed, allowing Clary a moment to regain her breath.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Jace muttered incoherently.

Unable to handle the situation any longer, Clary shook her head and quickly exited the room, leaving Magnus with a very bewildered and spaced out Jace, whose eyes slid closed as Magnus administered a sedative into his arm.

Outside the room, Clary staggered over to the elevator, willing it to take her anywhere but where she was. She needed to escape, to get away from the boy who was wearing Jace’s face but who wasn’t really Jace at all. The elevator doors opened and Clary stumbled inside, pressing the first button her finger touched. It wasn't until the doors had shut that she burst into a flurry of tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit's going down y'all. Buckle up and enjoy the ride.


	5. Chapter 5

"You did well, Biscuit," Magnus said comfortingly as he patted a distraught Clary on the back, "Jace didn't know what he was doing, you realise that, don’t you?"

Clary inhaled with a shudder; her sobs had made her breathing pattern irregular, "Y-yes, I mean, N-no he didn't realise a-at all. I-I feel terrible." She stuttered.

"I know nothing I say now will make you feel any better, but you must understand that Jace is extremely remorseful for his actions towards you,” Magnus reminded her gently, "He’s going to need you, more than anyone, Clary."

Clary nodded, her thoughts swirling.

"Don't worry, Clary," Magnus said comfortingly, "We are going to do everything we can for Jace."

Clary took a deep breath and calmed herself; this was no time for her to be moping around. Clutching her hands on the arms of the chair she was sitting in, Clary stood up slowly.

"We're going back to see him now, right?" she asked, trying to get control over herself again, "I think I'm okay to go now."

Magnus nodded slowly, "Alright then. Let me just go and grab my magic books on healing for Shadowhunters. Wait right here.”

"Okay," Clary gave a curt nod.

No sooner had Magnus left, was he back, his arms full of thick, leather bound books that looked just about as old as he was.

"Come, Clary," Magnus said as he beckoned Clary after him the room, his back straight, his face serious.

Quickly Clary scampered after Magnus, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand as they waited for the elevator. It hurt her to see Jace in such reduced circumstances, and she knew it must be difficult for him; Jace had always been independent and self sufficient, extremely intelligent; he relied heavily on his ability to quickly assess a situation. Now, everything that he was and had ever been, had been stripped away from him. Clary felt her heart ache, she would help him in any way that she could.

They stepped off the elevator and Clary took a deep breath, filling herself with calm. If she was going to help with Jace’s rehabilitation, she needed to be strong for him—she couldn't waste time crying.

Magnus led the way to the room that Jace was in, Clary following quietly behind, keeping her head held high, and her shoulders back. Magnus paused at the door when they arrived in front of Jace’s room and looked at Clary, who nodded in return. Magnus opened the door and entered, Clary only a step behind.

* * *

Jace had not moved at all since Clary had last seen him; he was currently comatose in what Clary could only imagine was a dreamless sleep. He looked so helpless lying in the bed, his clothes in tatters, his hair and skin still stained with blood; tubes of all different lengths, colours and sizes stuck out of every inch of his now gaunt flesh. Clary looked grimly at him, her fists clenching in determination.

"It looks as though he’s still rather out of it, so we’ll have ease off the sedatives and pain medication in order for him to wake up," Magnus said, making his way over to Jace’s almost lifeless form.

Clary stood there, completely motionless, watching Magnus and the other medically trained Shadowhunters as they fiddled with multiple different monitors, tubes and medical equipment until Jace began to rouse from his sleep.

“Take it easy Jace, can you try sitting up for me?” Magnus asked as he helped a groggy Jace sit up in bed as he struggled to get his bearings, heaving himself up on weak arms. “That’s the way. Is there anything either Clary or myself can get you?”

Jace glanced over to Clary, who had made no effort in getting closer while he’d awoken.

_‘She’s afraid of me…’_

“Jonathon?” Magnus’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Just a glass of water.” He answered after a moment.

“Clary.” Came Magnus’s voice, snapping her out of her void reverie.

Clary nodded and entered the small bathroom that was attached to the room Jace was currently occupying. She made her way to the small sink, grabbing a glass from the mirrored cabinet situated above it. In the time she was waiting for the glass to become full she took a moment to evaluate her current appearance in the mirror. Her usually iridescent dark green eyes were dull and forlorn, her long red hair messy, her skin somewhat sallow and her overall demeanour, depressed.

 _‘Great. It’s been a year since he’s seen me, and_ this _is what he’s greeted with…’_

Clary sighed, turning off the tap and returning to the room where Jace and Magnus were waiting for her. She made her way over to the hospital bed and passed Jace the glass of water, purposefully avoiding brushing her fingers against his as he took the glass from her grasp.

“I have been telling Jace about his rehabilitation, Clave approved rehabilitation, of course. He’s ready to begin as soon as possible.” Magnus stated as Clary stood at the foot of the bed.

“You are? So soon?” Clary directed her somewhat confused gaze to Jace, who simply stared back at her.

"I am," came his straightforward reply, "But you should know, there may be some things I can not help you with. Before I was tortured and left to die, Valentine had parts of my memory erased in case I survived."

"I see," Magnus replied in Clary’s stead, "We shall see how much memory remains, but that will have to wait until you've regained your strength."

"Okay.” Jace nodded.

"To get right to the point, your injuries have not completely healed yet," Magnus stated bluntly, "Given that we weren’t able to mark you with any runes, the recovery process is going to be slow and I’m sad to say, painful. You will have to go through a daily healing process with someone well versed in the medical field, in this case that will be Clary. During that time you will also be working on rehabilitation. The Clave has given the offer of three choices of which type of rehabilitation you will work with. Clary, who will work on your healing, will also help you become accustomed to that choice and eventually will leave when you regain your strength."

"What are the choices?" Jace asked passively, his facial expression unreadable.

"First choice is to have daily healing sessions with me," Magnus told him patiently.

"I don’t wish to take up all of your time, Magnus. Besides, as it is, I’ve no way of paying you for your services." Jace answered quietly.

"The second option would be to train you and rehabilitate you in Idris."

"I can’t easily enter Idris without my runes, and I’ve only just returned to New York and to The Institute… I don’t really want to leave. Not yet." Jace shook his head. The very thought of being stuck in Idris, the homeland of the Shadow world and the shining city for all Shadowhunters, when he wasn’t one, made Jace’s blood turn cold. Clary knew that being stuck in Idris for months on end in his current state is a scenario Jace would rather avoid.

"Then you have chosen the third and final choice," Magnus said, closing his cat-like eyes, "Once you have your injuries have healed and you’ve gained your strength, the Clave appointed Shadowhunter who was allocated to overseeing your treatments will then take up residence with you, helping you to assimilate into a new routine, your new life. When you are feel you have adjusted, the Shadowhunter will return to The Institute, and you will be free to live as you see fit."

The was a long pause from Jace, "So be it."

"I have already had someone interested in taking up the responsibility of overseeing your care duties. Until your are able to live on your own, she will assist you, guide you, and teach you," Magnus’s voice was gravely serious, "Only under certain circumstances will you be permitted to leave her side—she will also be serving as a kind of supervisor, monitoring your behavior and reporting back to The Clave and to members of The New York Institute. Consider it a sort of probation, if you will."

Another pause, "Who has The Clave assigned?"

Magnus turned to Clary and gave her a proud smile, "Oh, I didn’t have any say in who The Clave assigned, rather than being assigned though, she asked to be made responsible for your recovery. The newest recruit and New York City’s up and coming most talented Shadowhunter, Clarissa Fairchild."

Jace visibly stiffened at Magnus’s words; he turned his head away from them again, facing the window so that they could not see his face. Clary frowned uncertainly; bringing a finger to her lip, she bit it nervously.

"I can’t…” Jace muttered, and Clary frowned at his words.

"Clary is the one most capable for the job; aside from myself, there is no one better than her. The Clave has already approved Clary for this role, and once The Clave has ordered something be done, be done it must." Magnus spoke somewhat severely, "You have already chosen the third option, and I will hold you to it. Clary is to help you recover, whether you like it or not."

“Magnus, it’s not that I’m ignorant of Clary’s skills; I _know_ she is an incredible Shadowhunter. But I can’t… I don’t want to hurt her again…” Jace shook his head back and forth, his eyes squeezing shut.

“Jonathon; You’re not going to hurt her again. You know yourself well enough to know that you won’t.” Magnus reassured Jace, his hand coming to rest on Jace’s bony shoulder.

At that moment, Clary was thankful for Magnus’s somewhat suborn sense of will. She knew that if she had told Jace herself, she would have been unable to cope with his refusal. Taking a deep breath, Clary stepped forward, her steely gaze full of determination.

"Jace, I will not allow you to refuse my help," she said fiercely, "We’re going to get through this. Together. I’ve been assigned to assist you in your recovery, and I will not, under any circumstances, fail in doing so.”

Another long pause blanketed the room, lasting longer than any of the others had—if Jace had had any doubts about Clary’s devotion to him, he did not show it. He was thinking it over, Clary knew, but no matter what he felt about the situation, she refused to give up. She would see him through this.

"Even after so much time has passed," Jace said finally, "you're still the most loyal, brave, and selfless person I’ve ever known, Clary.”

Her gaze softened a little, and her body relaxed—she knew that that was Jace’s way of saying yes.

"If I have to, I will remind you of just how wonderful I actually am," she retorted haughtily, but a playful grin was on her lips.

It was because Jace’s face was turned slightly away from them that they did not see the change in his facial expression—they did not see the corner of his mouth curl slightly upwards into a small, amused smile.

* * *

When Magnus and Clary returned to the office on the fifth floor, they were met by Inquisitor Herondale occupying the chair behind the desk that sat in the centre of the room.

"Magnus Bane, Clarissa,” she acknowledged as they entered the room. “How did it go?" she asked, standing up abruptly.

"Inquisitor Herondale, always a pleasure,” Magnus bowed. “If you’re referring to our meeting with Jonathon, which I imagine that you are, I’m pleased to tell you that it went better than I expected to—though his response isn't exactly what I was expecting," Magnus replied, “I'm also surprised that he was so willing to consent."

"I assure you, Inquisitor Herondale," Clary emphasised once again, "Jace’s words were that of agreement."

Inquisitor Herondale straightened up again and looked at Clary with a wrinkled smile, "Well, you know him better than anyone, though from what I hear, he didn’t directly say ‘yes’ to the conditions laid out by The Clave. His indirect manner of accepting our terms is not how I would have gone about agreeing to something."

Clary shrugged lightly, a slight smile on her face, "That's just the way Jace is."

"Well, alright," Inquisitor responded, sounding dubious. “Moving on, thank you, Magnus, for being of such great assistance.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” Magnus stated, his charming smile painting his features.

“As much as I would love to remain here and oversee your work, I have other matters that require my attention. Thank you Magnus, and Clarissa, I’ll be expecting regular reports and updates on Jonathon’s progress.” Inquisitor Herondale gazed at Clary, making herself understood.

“Of course, Inquisitor.” Clary answered, watching the older woman as she exited the room.

“My God… I can’t stand that woman. She makes even _my_ skin crawl.” Magnus said, as soon as he could sense that Inquisitor Herondale was out of earshot.

Clary couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, she’s not exactly my favourite person either, but I’m grateful she’s agreed to let me be a part of Jace’s rehabilitation.”

“Speaking of rehabilitation, Clary, do you recall your studies on the creation and implementation of Runes?"

Clary nodded, "I didn't spend that much time on it though, I can't remember much."

"Right now Jace is getting cleaned up, which might take a while, all things considered," Magnus said, heading over to the desk and picking up one of the spell books on top of the stack, "While you wait, I want you to read through these books and try to regain your understanding of what it is you do remember. Jace's treatment is basic healing, seeing as we can’t use any runes on him and his body can only withstand low levels of magic, but it works better if you at least know where to focus your energy."

Clary wandered over to the stack of books and picked up the second one on the stack, which was titled ‘The Basic Principles and Physics of Shadowhunting, Runes and Magical Elements.

"You had better get started," Magnus responded, before putting back the spell book he had in his hand, "I have other matters to attend to—I'll be floating about The Institute if you need me. I've made arrangements for you to be notified when Jace is ready to begin treatment."

"Alright," Clary replied, sitting down on the couch across from the desk, "Thank you for helping me do this, Magnus."

"Don't thank me yet," was his reply, "It was hardly as though myself or The Clave had a choice in allowing you to be a part of it, did we?"

Clary smiled, "No."

"I thought not," Magnus gave a soft laugh as he exited the room, a billow of velvety coat following after him.

Lost in thought, Clary hardly noticed the Magnus leave the room as she thought of her situation. Apprehension was coursing through her; it was understandable that she was nervous. The situation that Jace currently found himself was, in some way, her fault. At least that is what she kept telling herself.

Sighing, she cracked open the book laying across her lap, looking at the table of contents for indications of what chapter would be most useful to review. She turned to a page somewhere near the middle of the book—her mind became split in two, both parts still aware of what the other was doing. One part of her was reading the book resting in her lap and absorbing the information, committing it to memory. The other part of her mind, meanwhile, was coming up with a plan in order to get Jace’s runes back. It was in this unique way that she could multi-task and be able to remember things better than other people could.

With a plan being formed in her mind and information being branded into it, Clary prepared herself for Jace’s undoubtedly long-winded journey to rehabilitation.

* * *

Jace stood in the shower, the warm water running over his now scrawny body, one hand braced against the wall. The water seeped through his hair, causing the dried blood to become soaked and wash out. More water was running over his face, and he kept his eyes squinted shut tightly as if to shut out the excruciating pain—his body was still stinging from being injured, every movement he made seemed only to increase his pain.

The Shadowhunters, who had come to his room shortly after Clary and Magnus had departed, had helped him get undressed and into the shower, and were now waiting outside the bathroom for him to let them know when he was finished washing up. It had been a strange experience; being so weak that he’d had to be assisted out of his bed and into the bathroom. Jace hoped to regain his strength soon, the humiliation at being such an invalid was not a feeling he enjoyed. He had to get better, if not for himself, than for Alec and Izzy, for Clary.

That last thought drew his mind to Clary. She had acted completely different from the Clary that he remembered, and he was surprised that she hadn't been sitting by his bedside already when he woke. She hadn't been as brash as she had been in the past, but rather, a little more subdued. Perhaps she no longer cared for him in that way— and despite his best efforts, Jace couldn’t deny that the thought didn’t bother him.

He bent down and picked up the shampoo he had been given before beginning to wash out the rest of the matted blood from his normally golden hair. He decided then that he would get well as quickly as he could, so that he could return to living his life that had, seemingly, been on hold for the year he had been gone.

Reaching out he turned off the tap and the water came to a halt, a quiet dripping splashing onto the ground. Fumbling with the handle of the door to the stall he cursed his current state, hating how weak he was. He stepped out of the shower and placed his hand on a stack of towels that had been put out for him; grabbing one, he wrapped it around his waist.

"Jonathon," one of the healers knocked on the door from outside, "Are you finished?"

"Yes," Jace replied, rubbing his hair dry with another towel from the pile.

He heard faintly, on the other side of the door, one of the Shadowhunters say to the other: "Go and alert Clarissa Fairchild that Jonathon will be ready for treatment shortly."

Jace lowered the towel from his head and held the thick fabric in his hands; no matter what, he would get well, whether Clary was the one who treated him or not.

* * *

Clary placed her hand on the handle of the door to Jace’s hospital room, a small nervousness plaguing her. Having read up on the properties, physics and formation of runes and reviewing what she already knew had helped a great deal, but she was still anxious—she did not want to make a mistake or disappoint Jace.

This was the first time that she would have taken care of someone, on such a serious level, with out anyone’s guidance or supervision. When Inquisitor Herondale had praised her, and said that she was one of the best up and coming medically trained Shadowhunters, Clary was immensely shocked and flattered. Clary suspected that she was coming along better than most people that had as little knowledge of the Shadow world as she did, but she had always thought that there were many people who were more skilled than herself, regardless of her own predisposition to all things Shadowhunter.

Perhaps, Clary thought, that was why The Clave had allowed her to work with Jace, because maybe there was something that she could do to help him that nobody else could. And going on how events had unfolded in the past, this was most probably the case. She and Jace were connected, two parts of the same origin.

With her resolve solidified, Clary gripped the handle a little tighter before entering Jace’s hospital room.

Jace was again lying in the hospital bed, new dressings over his substantial injuries. His hair was damp and hung down away from his face, revealing a very incomprehensible expression. He was also no longer wearing the torn and tattered clothes that he had been garbed in that morning but was now wearing a simple cloth hospital gown.

"I'm glad that they got you cleaned up." Clary said, making her way over to Jace’s bedside.

"So am I," was his reply.

"I can imagine you must have been itching to get out of your torn clothes," Clary continued, coming forward, putting her bag on the bedside table next to his bed.

"Yeah well, this gown isn’t much better." he stated, his voice sounding a little irritated.

‘ _Can’t say I blame him, those gowns are pretty itchy_ …' she thought.

"Well… If I’m as good as The Clave seems to think I am, you should be out of here in no time," Clary replied, changing her tone to a more serious one, "But you won't get better overnight, Jace. This treatment demands a great amount of patience; I won't have you pushing yourself—it would most likely result in a longer rehabilitation period."

"I understand." Jace replied.

Inwardly, Clary sighed. _‘I’m not sure that you do understand.’_

"Can you sit up for me, please," Clary ordered; pulling out a leather-bound book and skimming a dog-eared page for some last-minute information that could help her.

He complied without complaint and sat in a cross-legged position on the mattress, his back straight and his shoulders back. Clary was glad to see that he was no longer struggling to lift himself up as he rested his hands patiently on his lap.

Reaching out she undid the bandages covering almost two-thirds of his body, slowly unwinding them until they fell away from his frame. She wrapped the multitude of bandage in a neat coil and set it down next to the book she had spread out on the table. She then walked over and sat down on the side of his bed, looking into his piercing eyes.

They sat in silence for a while, simply taking in the person opposite them. Clary noticed the bags of exhaustion under Jace’s sombre orbs, clearly a sign he hadn’t been sleeping well of late, now that he was no longer on such heavy sedatives. Despite the fact that he was now at least twenty kilograms skinnier, injured and generally in bad shape, Jace was still the most handsome man Clary had ever laid eyes on. His eyes glowed, drawing her in. Clary could feel her heart beat rising, Jace’s stare incredibly intense. A moment later she cut through the tension between them by lowering her gaze to his hands.

To someone who did not understand the situation, it would appear that Jace was completely fine, asides from a few bumps and bruises still evident on his skin, but Clary knew better. Magnus had indeed done a good job of healing Jace to a point where his body could handle the remainder of the recovery, but Clary knew that beneath the surface, the true damage was concealed.

"It’s pretty bad huh?" Jace finally spoke, his gaze having followed Clary’s as her eyes skimmed over his skin, skin now lacking the marks of a Shadowhunter.

Slowly Jace stretched out his hands and Clary noted the damage with grimness. There was severe damage to the center of his palm, and even though Magnus had managed to partially seal the wound, the deep gash had crusted slightly shut and appeared extremely painful. Clary knew that even on the off chance that she were somehow able to bring back Jace’s runes, he may never be able to handle a Stele or sword the way he once had, again.

Clary went and rummaged around inside her bag, procuring a salve that Magnus had made up earlier that morning. Sitting back down on the edge of the bed, she took each of Jace’s palms in her own and examined them, comparing the injuries. There was damage to the ligaments on both hands, but his actual hands, from what she could tell, seemed to have sustained no damage at all. She scooped onto her finger a little dab of the salve and placed it onto each of his hands, rubbing it in gently, her renewed knowledge on healing allowing her to recognise what she must do.

Clary stretched out Jace’s hands before laying her fingertips in the center of his palm. Jace’s hands seized up, hissing in pain.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice angry.

Clary glared at him slightly. "I am trying to work on healing your wounds," she replied irritably, "If you don't mind, could you let go of my fingers?"

Slowly Jace’s grip on her fingers loosened and he opened his palms again, leaving them open in his lap. There was a trace of a scowl on his face; Clary could tell he was in pain, but there was nothing she could do about it. Again she placed her fingertips on the different energy points in his palms, where the book had said they would be.

Focusing energy in her hands, she exerted it through her fingertips and into Jace’s flesh, keeping close watch on the flow of energy. It was something Magnus had shown her; even though technically Shadowhunter’s weren’t able to practice magic, Magnus Bane had his work arounds, and thanks to him, Clary was now able to perform lesser spells and brew magic potions.

Clary closed her eyes in concentration, moving the energy over Jace’s palms to the infected areas, working to repair the torn tissues.

For half an hour she and Jace sat perfectly still, neither of them moving, the only movement that could be seen was the slow rise and fall of their chests as they breathed, and the wispy energy that was glowing at Clary’s fingertips. After a few more minutes Clary dropped her hands to her side, feeling drained. Working at healing something as delicate as a persons hands was very difficult and she now knew why Magnus hadn't healed him completely the previous night—he had run out of energy to do so.

"I'm finished, for today at least," she said to Jace needlessly, "It may feel a little tender for the next few days as a result of the process. I guess the best thing you can try and do is get some sleep."

"Okay," Jace replied as Clary stood up from the bed, procuring some fresh bandages for his wounds.

She sat down closer to him this time and wrapped the white bandages around his hands, being careful around the center, not wanting to hurt him. Jace waited patiently as she tied the bandage at the back, and didn't say anything as she stood up, packing away the book and the salve she had used.

"I'll come back in a few hours and we'll begin the rehabilitation," she told him as she slung the bag over her shoulder, feeling extremely tired herself, "If you need anything, call the nurse by using the red button on the right side of you, she should be able to tend to your needs until I come back."

She began to cross the room, ready to head up the lounge and take a much-needed rest—her energy levels were still low from helping Magnus the previous night, and she had not had a chance to replenish them completely. The process she had just completed had drained them even further, and she longed for some sleep.

"Clary," Jace called out to her as she reached for the door handle.

Pausing, she turned back to look at him; he had laid back on the bed again but his gaze had followed her as she’d moved to exit the room, "What is it?"

"I’m glad it’s you," he stated, and she could hear an undertone of nostalgia in his voice, "I mean, you know me better than anyone. Even myself. But _why_ are you doing this for me?"

Clary gave a sad smile.

"Because I love you, and I will love you until I die and if there's a life after that, I'll love you then."

Jace practically gawked at Clary, his expression utterly bewildered. He hadn’t expected that.

With that final affirmation Clary exited the room, closing the door gently behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you might have noticed a lack in other characters, but don't worry, they'll come into the story in the next few chapters—once word gets out that Jace is on the mend, and especially after he gets released from the hospital and Clary takes up residence with him, you’ll be seeing a lot more of Alec and Izzy and our favourite cool nerd, Simon.


End file.
